1. Just One Damned Thing After Another by Jodi Taylor Read Free Book Online Page B

cheat. It’s expected. The trick is to look them in the eye and lie right down the line.’
    Well, bloody, bollocking hell!
    I was still somewhat aggrieved over the Outdoor Survival thing, but the three-day pod exam was a triumph, as were Thursday’s simulations. The end was in sight, which was just as well, because I was absolutely knackered. It would be typical if I fell at the last fence. Only the sims weren’t the last fence. The last fence was on Tuesday. Tuesday was the real deal.  

Chapter Three
    Tuesday was the day when we finally found out if we had what it took. No more hiding behind the theory or the lectures or the sims. No more hiding from our own fears. This was it at last.
    I kicked off the covers and bounded out of bed. Not something that happened too often. After a quick shower I dressed, with luck for the last time in the now-despised greys. Skipping down the corridor, I banged on Sussman’s door. ‘Come on! Today’s the day.’
    I heard his door open behind me, but didn’t stop. Dancing round the corner, I ran into Chief Farrell. It was like hitting a warm wall.
    ‘Sorry, Chief. Did I hurt you?’
    He smiled patiently. ‘No, Miss Maxwell, I have survived. Your big day, then?’
    ‘You betcha, Chief. Shrewsbury, circa 1400. Can you believe it?’
    ‘I seem to remember you mentioning it almost incessantly this last week. You’ve got Number Eight, by the way.’
    ‘Great! Eight is my lucky number.’ I grinned like an idiot and hopped from foot to foot in my impatience to get going,
    ‘Go, Miss Maxwell, before you break something.’
    ‘Bye, Chief.’ And I was gone.
    I helped myself to eggs, bacon, hash browns, and grapefruit juice. The others did the same, although Nagley just pushed hers around the plate. I thought she looked a little pale and when I spoke to her she only nodded. Sussman, naturally, was nearly as full of it as me.
    As soon as we finished, we set off to Wardrobe. I was issued a thick, coarse, brown woollen dress of ankle length.
    ‘Forget sweeping around with a long dress,’ said Mrs Enderby, supervising my transformation . ‘This is not the movies. Nothing picks up dust, dirt, wet, excrement, and the occasional dead dog as much as a sweeping hemline. You’ll thank us when you’re tip-toeing through the delights of a medieval street.’ She was kind enough not to mention occasionally having to run for my life as well. The look we were going for was a young, respectable housewife, maybe a journeyman’s wife or an upper servant to a prosperous household. A young, unmarried, and seemingly unprotected girl wandering around the streets would be asking for trouble.
    Underneath I wore several linen shifts and, underneath them, a sports bra and modern thermal underwear. There was no way I would be wandering around medieval Shrewsbury in early spring with no drawers on. And, as Mrs Enderby so cheerfully said, if things got bad then the wearing of anomalous underwear was going to be the least of my problems.
    I also got a linen coif to show my married status, a pair of stout leather shoes, a dark green cloak, and a basket. We always carry something. It helps us blend in and gives us something to do with our hands.
    They showed me the waterproof matches, compass, and water purification tablets all carefully sewn into concealed pockets.
    Sussman was off to a Victorian village cricket match, Nagley to Restoration London, and Grant got Roman York. All quiet and unspectacular jumps since we were, for the first and last time, going solo. It only ever happens on the first jump; for all other jumps there are always at least two historians.
    Wardrobe checked us over for watches and jewellery and then despatched us to the hangar. Of course, everyone knew where we were going and why. Best wishes and good luck calls followed us down the corridors. I don’t know how the others felt, but my insides were somersaulting and I was equally torn between fear and excitement.
    We entered the noisy